


Restraint

by Eyrian



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Compliant, Canon: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood, Complete, Drama & Romance, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Grumman Ships Royai, Happy Ending, Post-Canon, Post-Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood, Royai - Freeform, Sexual Tension, Slow Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-05
Updated: 2020-07-05
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:28:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 18,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25090888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eyrian/pseuds/Eyrian
Summary: Watching Mustang's back means protecting him from himself, especially where she is involved. He learns to follow her lead.A canon-compliant collection of scenes that show the history, bond, and love Mustang and Hawkeye develop for each other. Five chapters are just their perspectives on scenes we're given in the anime, and the rest are originals.
Relationships: Riza Hawkeye & Roy Mustang, Riza Hawkeye/Roy Mustang
Comments: 6
Kudos: 74
Collections: FMA: Mustang+Hawkeye





	1. Grave Sight

**Author's Note:**

> **(For context for this scene, watch season 3, episode 4, first scene after the intro.)**

The dust unsettled around Riza's feet as she walked through the remnants of her father's home. By the state of things, she would have guessed it was abandoned. She winced internally to see so many of her childhood memories reduced to cobwebs and warped walls. Roaches crawled across the floor of her old bedroom.

"The bedroom is on the next floor," Roy Mustang said quietly from the doorway.

Remembering she wasn't alone, she turned around and saw her father's student in the doorway. He'd been waiting for her at the station when she arrived and offered to accompany her to the graveside, and she'd asked for a detour to the home first.

They had met a few times when he first started studying under Berthold. He'd always had a serious look on his face and took in every new lesson with a hunger and dedication.

"Is his bedroom as bad as the rest of the house?" she asked while running a finger over the dust on an old dresser. It had only been five years since she'd seen the place. How had it fallen into such disrepair?

"No, but it's not… easier to see."

"I think I'm done here then." She purposefully turned away from the sight and followed Roy out of the house.

The sun was a relief compared to the dreary emptiness of her old home and the memories swirling. She had loved her father, no matter what he thought. His resentment had grown slowly throughout her youth, but it had never stopped her from being fully devoted to him. As her grandfather General Grumman grew in military success, Berthold had acted as though they were in competition. It was hard to know if her mother had egged it on or not. It all happened when she was too young to pick up on such subtleties.

She assumed, however, that her mother's remarriage to an ambitious soldier was Berthold's breaking point, confirming a suspicion that the Grummans had always resented his civilian status.

Berthold constantly insisted that military and alchemy were at odds with each other. He saw the military as destruction and alchemy as a way to save others. If that was true, she wondered, why had he wasted his whole life in pursuit of the most powerful yet most destructive alchemy?

He'd asked her to come visit five years ago, saying he'd completed his life's work but he needed her help. Perhaps Riza could not resist being needed, but she also had held out a hope that completing his research would change him for the better. Instead, she found a man possessed by fear disguised as anger. Though he feared the military, he must have feared his own work more. He wanted to hide it, he said. He didn't trust anyone with it, not even his apprentice.

When he asked her to bear his flame alchemy, she almost fell into his fear as well. He'd raised her to fear the military, but her mother had raised her to fear alchemy. Surely it had done no good for her father. Yet when he showed her what he had created, awe replaced all fear. She could see what he meant. It was powerful. It was beautiful. It had to be protected.

The tattoo on her back became a vow. She would carry it until she found a safe vessel to share it. Its location also ensured, as her father had probably assumed it would, she would not give it to someone she could not trust with her vulnerability. She watched her father burn all other evidence of his life's work, as the burden of Berthold's purpose in life passed on to her.

The ground under her feet crunched as she followed Roy to the grave, and she pondered his military garb. How had her father's student followed this path? Berthold would surely have dismissed Roy when he expressed any intentions of joining the academy. If he was still here, could she have told Berthold the truth? Could she have told him that she, too, was pursuing a military career? Could she have visited him more these last few years?

Maybe it was idealistic, but she wanted to believe both things could be true. Alchemy could be as good for the country as the route taken by non-alchemists.

She shivered slightly and blamed the fall weather. They stood over his grave, finally, and she noticed flowers. Roy must have already placed them here, because she knew no one in the town was on good terms with Berthold anymore. Roy had stayed under her father, even as he'd fallen apart. He must have seen the heart and the skill behind her father's madness, as she had. In some way, he may have been a better son than she had been a daughter. He had stayed.

"You've done so much," she told him. "I can never thank you enough."

"It's the least I could do after everything he's taught me," he replied. He held out a card to her, and she turned her head to look at him. "You should take this. You can call me in the military if you need to." She looked down, surprised by his openness and extended caring. She took the card from him and stared at it for a moment.

So, he would become a State Alchemist, that odd intersection of power. State Alchemists felt like a paradox at times, but she'd secretly always been fascinated by them. They implied her exact hope - that both sides of her family were right. Both were good.

"Let me guess," he said after a moment of silence, "You also don't approve of me becoming a soldier. Your father told me soldiers are left to die like trash on the side of the road." This didn't surprise her. "That may be, but I know it's the only way to make a difference. And I know I'll never be happy if I don't try to make this country a better place."

The open, pure idealism and motivation behind his words did surprise her. He must have assumed that Berthold's daughter would not share his research with someone in the military, yet he did not hide his ambitions. His desire to make the country better and to make a difference clashed resonated deeply with her own goals. He believed this so deeply that he vocalized it quickly to a woman he'd only seen a few times, and she felt hopeful for the first time that day.

He saw her surprise and looked away, embarrassed. "Man, that must have sounded pretty childish, huh?"

"Not at all," she said, smiling slightly. "There's nothing childish about caring." She stared at her father's gravestone again. If there's one thing she could say about Berthold, he did deeply care, despite how often he got in his own way.

The burden of her father's secret pressed on her, eager to finally be shared. She wanted to believe this man. Her father must have. He didn't see alchemy or the military as opportunities for power or renown but as venues for changing the world.

"Am I to believe that you're serious about this, that you really do care?" She swallowed nervously and already felt herself getting carried away by this small glimpse of his dreams. "Can I trust you, Roy, with my father's research?"

He stood quietly for a long time. She felt the weight of the moment and knew the question was not easy to answer. How do you prove you're trustworthy? Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him bow his head.

"I can only promise that I will dedicate my life to this. I believe that I can make this country better and that it can be better, and I will do this if it kills me. I cannot be happy any other way."

She sighed at the earnestness in his voice. "Okay. Now, will you take me to the inn where I am to stay for the night?"

He looked surprised at the abrupt change from a serious conversation but nodded immediately. "Yes, of course. Right this way, ma'am."

They silently walked the short distance to a local inn. No one recognized them, and she had the bill sent to her mother who'd promised to pay for everything so long as she didn't have to join her daughter. Roy escorted her to her room, opened the door, and stood back.

"I hope you have a safe journey home, Miss Hawkeye," he said, standing in the doorway after she stepped into her room.

She turned around and studied him. His expression was, again, earnest. He hadn't asked once for her father's research, though he must have suspected. Berthold would not have died without telling his last remaining pupil. Yet now he was saying goodbye.

"Please step inside," she offered and moved towards the couch in the room. He obeyed silently and closed the door behind him.

She turned her back to him. The curtains in the window were closed, giving them total privacy.

"I have my father's research on me." She heard him breath in sharply. "I will trust you. Please don't make me regret it. Promise me."

"I promise, Miss Hawkeye."

She unbuttoned her shirt and let it fall to the floor, covering her chest out of modesty and vulnerability. She felt relief, hope, and yet a mild dread. "Take as long as you need."

He stepped closer. "Thank you," he whispered, his breath raising goosebumps on her skin as he leaned to get a closer look.

 _Please, Roy. Change the world_ , she thought as his eyes roamed her bare but covered back.


	2. In Ishval

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawkeye's perspective of the scenes in Ishval.

Through her scope, she lost all hope, even in herself. Every time she pulled the trigger, something in her died. She tried to become numb, but the task required too much of her mind. She had to stay alert and aware, and a small part of her knew it was for the best. She needed to remember each face as a price for what she had done.

Where was the equivalent exchange in all this? What did they gain from the slaughter?

She tried to aim only for men old and able enough to be a soldier. It was easy to imagine they were an enemy soldier. But all too soon, they were gone, and the people in her sight were old men, old women… and children. She may not have been numb, but something did grow automatic and hardened.

The worst part of it all was the State Alchemists, the dogs of the military. She knew what creativity and power they had, and yet they caused the worst destruction. It became pointless to shoot once they arrived. They were so much better at killing.

When she saw Roy Mustang enter the fray, she felt dizzy and had to brace herself. She realized she'd still held on to hope that she'd placed her trust in the right place. Mentally, she'd separated him from all that was happening her. She may be getting her hands dirty, but he would be a last safe refuge. He would do good, and she would know she'd enabled some goodness in the world. She'd been following his career closely and praying for him despite her atheism, but that last stronghold of light fell when she saw him effortlessly burn a whole building alive. She could hear the screams all the way to her perch.

Her commanding officers rationalized all of it, and her fellow soldiers and snipers seemed to accept it. They truly believed they were defending their country in the only way they could. They talked about the unrest that had lasted for years and "the only solution." They accepted the shallow reasoning. Yet the sight of dead children constantly swam before her eyes, and she could accept no excuse for this slaughter.

Though it felt like a decade of hell, it didn't take long before the city was nothing but dust and corpses.

She shot less and less. There were fewer and fewer Ishvalans now, the State Alchemists were doing a better job, and her anger was growing. When she saw Major Mustang talking with someone near her station, she wrapped up her gun and walked out to them.

They turned around as she approached with heavy footfall on noisy sand. She took off her hood and closed her eyes briefly to adjust to the change in light. "Hello, Major Mustang. Long time no see. Do you still remember me?" She struggled to control the anger in her voice.

He frowned, not in confusion but in disappointment. She knew what he was thinking and held his gaze, accusing and despairing.

She tried to hold back from voicing her actual questions, but as they silently sat, waiting for the next bell to signal an attack, she couldn’t see the point any longer. Though Major Mustang wasn't responsible for the whole war, he was willingly taking part in it. He needed to answer for the military if he was going to serve it.

"Maybe you can answer this, Major," she began as he stared absently at his hands, those hands which had already burned alive tens of Ishvalans if not hundreds. "Why are we being ordered to kill citizens when we should be the ones protecting them?" He looked up, and she could see that he was as haunted as she. Yet she continued, the question bursting out of a need to voice them, especially to one who seemed to feel the same responsibility. "I thought alchemy was meant to be used to help people. So, why is it being used to kill them instead?"

He couldn't answer. He met her eyes, and she remembered. They truly did share responsibility. Had she not given him this power? Would he really be able to burn all these people if she had not shown him the circles on her back, if she had not trusted him?

And after that conversation, she felt a pang of guilt every time she saw flames rise. When she slept, she'd see all of Ishval in flames coming from her own hands. Then she dreamt of other cities burning by strangers, but she stood behind them all. When she woke, she tried to scratch at her back but could never reach the tattoos or dig into it enough.

When the war ended, she felt more grief than relief. It meant they'd done their job, their dark deeds were complete. Everyone eagerly packed up and fought for the first rides out of this godforsaken city, but she walked among the ruins, knowing she could never truly leave this place. She would never forget a single life she had taken.

She found a child with a bullet in the forehead and burned legs. Had the shot been hers? She knew whose the flames were. The empty city was silent as she fell to her knees and cradled the dead body. She cried, imagining a child like this in every building, as the rest of the forces rolled out and left it behind. She couldn't leave things like this.

She carried the child out of the building and placed the body in the middle of a street where the tanks had rolled in. She dragged rubble and scooped dirt, and eventually, the tears stopped. It felt good to be doing something for an Ishvalan, even if it was just burying them. She wished she had the time to bury them all, but that would barely scratch the level of restoration required. If equivalent exchange were true, she would need to die a hundred times. But she had only one life, and she didn't want to live it anymore.

When the grave was finished, she patted down the dirt, nothing left to do, and the exhaustion and despair returned. Would she have to keep moving towards restoration for the rest of her life now? Was there even a path she could find to give her enough to do? Who could she follow?

"Aren't you going back?" said a voice behind her, the only one in Ishval she'd recognize. She was so caught up in the moment that his sudden presence barely jolted. "You'll be left behind." She could hear the caring in his voice, the concern. But she actually wished she could be left behind. Part of her would always live here anyway.

"Who's that?" he asked when she still didn't turn around. "A war buddy?"

"No," she finally answered, and she could hear the cracking in her own voice. "It's - it's an Ishvalan child." Her anger reunited with her grief and both folded in on her. "One left dead with nowhere to call home."

His voice was solemn and understanding but urgent. "Let's go. The war is over now." Was he trying to convince her or himself?

She couldn't play along with moving on any more than she could buy into the propaganda the commanding officers had insisted was a good enough excuse to make this grave necessary. "The fighting may be. But the nightmares of what we did in this place are far from over. They'll stay with me for as long as I live."

By his silence, she knew he agreed. It made her ache to remember his earnest idealism, to recall what he said by her grandfather's grave. He had believed he could change the world, but they had used him as much as they had used her. Were they really powerful enough to make a difference?

"I believed in you," she told him, always wavering between blaming him and blaming herself. "I trusted you with my father's research. Then I applied to the military academy because I hoped to help other people. The way things turned out, it's not what I wanted, but there's no escaping the truth." She was breaking and confessing, but she would do her best not to cry in front of him. "I can never atone for the suffering I've caused."

"I have a favor to ask, Mustang," she added, and the idea which had been brewing in her mind solidified. They did this together. She would make him a part of the undoing. She didn't call him Major. This was personal, and they were equals in it. "Please burn this off." She kept her eyes on the grave, remembering the child's face. "Deface my back."

He gasped and his voice raised in protest, "But how could I ever do something-"

"At least," she interrupted, "I may not ever be able to atone, but at least I can destroy the secrets on my back. There can be no more flame alchemists." She knew as she said it what he would hear: she would rather be burned than let anyone else turn out like him. 

He was silent for a long time, and she worried that she was more wrong than she thought. That now that he knew what flame alchemy was capable of, he would be too drawn to the power to understand its implications.

"Can you do this?"

She stood finally, keeping her back to him a little longer so he would remember the first moment he saw it bare and the promises he made.

"If so, please release me."

She turned around to face him. He was almost visibly trembling, crushed by the very request. He could hardly look away from her eyes, his mouth half open in shock.

"I want you to set me free from my father's burden. Please. Set me free from his alchemy." He continued to stare, but she looked down. "I'm begging you."

She saw his hands clench into shaking fists. "Alright," he finally answered, and his voice wavered under duress. "I'll leave as little trace as I can."

She almost crumpled in relief. It was not atonement, but it was something she needed just as much. She would be severed from a path that created more flame alchemists. If she was responsible for Mustang, she would at least not be responsible for others like him. She could make that change, that difference.


	3. Afterburn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mustang's perspective as he burns her back and accepts her position as his adjutant.

Roy had fought as long as he could to find the reason behind their orders and their actions, and he'd found nothing but the desire to burn his own hands off. 

In the end, he concluded no reason could be good enough anyway. No reason was good enough for what happened to the Ishvalans or even his own men. Their eyes were sinking into their skulls with the haunted expression of killers. He felt the same thing happening to him. They weren't fighting an enemy. They weren't even protecting their families back home. What threat had the innocent Ishvalans been?

Alchemists were not the dogs of the military but the devils.

After the first encounter with Riza Hawkeye and the conviction her questions brought, things shifted in his worldview. He'd felt a surge of protection towards her and the love of a comrade. His conscience cracked further at the effect this war had had on her. He knew he would do anything to take care of her, and he knew she would do the same for those she loved. Had he been in charge, he would never have made this decision. He couldn't do that to others or to his men. The pyramid of authority should operate on such a basis, but it had to start at the top.

So, he set his eyes for the top.

Now, he stood before her naked back in his tent, knowing he'd already let her down. He wanted to put it all behind him. He would take his new approach and flee Ishval, trying to be a better man for it. Her request, however, was a rebuke to this cowardly desire. They had to make amends for what they'd done, and they had to make sure it could never happen again. In order to that, they had to face it and accept the real consequences.

And that started with her back. He flexed his fingers in nervous preparation.

"Are you ready, Major?" she asked, gently.

He sighed and laid a gloved hand on her shoulder. She didn't wince. "Are you ready?"

"Yes," she answered quickly and confidently.

He nodded. "Alright. As I said, I'll do my best to leave as little of a trace as I can."

"Thank you," she whispered, just as she had at the child's grave.

His stomach twisted with guilt, dread, and nausea, and he tightened his grip on her shoulder to steady himself. He was thankful her back was turned so she couldn't see the look on his face as he wrestled with himself. "I'm sorry, Riza. I failed you. I gave you my word. You wanted to believe in me, and I did, too. I won't say I was wrong to believe what I did. I still believe it." He closed his eyes, searching for words to say to make her understand. "I will still try. It's clearly more imperative than I knew that someone make things right. It's also clear we can't do it-" He was surprised that he used the plural pronoun, but he knew as soon as he said it that they'd been in this together the minute she'd shown him her father's research - "from the middle. One man doesn't make much of a difference. I need to rise. I will rise. I will protect those below me, and I will fight until everyone in the country is under my protection and they are empowered to protect others too."

She was silent. He let his hands fall back to his side and bowed his head. "I promise."

Out of his peripherals, he saw her look at him over her shoulder than learn away.

"It's time now," she whispered.

So, he stared at her back one last time. His eyes traced the scripts and circles he knew by heart, all etched on perfect, creamy skin. He'd spent a week studying the tattoo. Once, he'd touched her skin as he would have a map on his desk. The sensation had been so pleasant that he'd found excuses to do it more. He had loved that week of learning, exploration, study, and her quiet, steady presence. He would leave to practice with precision in the backyard of the Berthold mansion then return to her room to find her in the same spot, waiting for him.

Now, he would mar it forever, and impossibly, he hated himself even more than all the time in Ishval had taught him to.

But he realized then that he didn't have to burn her whole back. Total destruction was unnecessary. That's what they'd done here. It was time to be tactical, to find the key that unlocked the whole thing. He only needed to erase that, and then maybe they'd both have a small window of closure. He would leave as much of her back in tact as he could.

  


Lieutenant Colonel Mustang, the Hero of Ishval, waited impatiently at his desk. He'd received a missive a week ago stating a soldier had requested re-assignment to work under him. An adjutant was just what he needed, but the name at the bottom surprised him. She was scheduled to arrive today, but he couldn't believe it until he heard the footsteps down the hall.

When First Lieutenant Hawkeye opened the door, he felt his chest tighten. It had been two months since Ishval. She looked two months better, but still as marked as he.

She strode forward to his desk, her form perfect. She saluted and waited for him to speak.

"So, you've decided to take this path after all, even after what you went through in Ishval." He folded his hands in front of his mouth as she gave an account for her presence here.

"Yes, sir," she replied. "If the world truly operates based on the principals of equivalent exchange, then we soldiers have plenty to give back. If this world is meant to prosper, then it is our duty to carry the bodies of the dead across a river of blood to their resting place."

He stood instinctively. All the bells of justice and rightness were ringing in him at her answer. He'd seen her hands bury a dead child when no one ordered her to. Those same hands were now saluting him. He could not imagine a better subordinate to aid him in this journey.

He also knew this meant she believed him. She accepted his promise. His most crucial need was someone who would hold him to that promise, and the sight of her every day would be a sober reminder of reality.

"From now on, I'm assigning you to be my assistant. I feel like I could trust you to watch my back." Her eyebrows raised at the mention of a back. "Although," Roy continued, "I expect you understand what this means. You'll be able to shoot me in the back as well. If I ever deviate from this path, then I want you to shoot me. And I'm trusting you to do so."

He would rather die than become like those who'd issued the commands of Ishvalan extermination. He trusted her, maybe only her, to hold to the same conviction. He had wavered in Ishval, even to the point of telling Hughes that the future he'd dreamed of could never be. He couldn't afford to weaken again for a moment.

She would be more than assistant. She would guard his body from others, but more importantly, she would guard him from himself.

"Do you accept my offer?"

She closed her eyes. "Of course, I do, sir. I'll follow you into hell if you ask me to."


	4. Smoke Break

Havoc's small cigarette somehow filled the entire room with its stench. Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye sat on the windowsill to get some fresh air. A few feet away, Mustang, Hughes, and Havoc sat together on the couch. Hughes was the only one not slouching. Hawkeye stared out the window to keep herself from kicking the bottom of Mustang's boot to get him to sit up straight like the future leader of the country should. She'd learned to pick her battles.

"Who knows?" Hughes was saying. "This time, next year, I could have a kid." Hawkeye smirked. Only Hughes could brag about a kid he hadn't even conceived yet.

Mustang rolled his eyes.

"I'm just saying!" Hughes protested. "You and Havoc should maybe date fewer women and marry more of them!"

"Are you suggesting polygamy?" Roy retorted.

Now, Hughes rolled his eyes. "No, I'm just saying more of you could afford to marry."

"Hey, I'm not against it," Havoc said, throwing up his hands defensively as a twirl of smoke continued to rise from the tip of his cigarette. "I like to think I'm always looking for the right one."

Hughes' eyes twinkled as he leaned towards Havoc. "In that case, why don't you stay in Central and let me set you up with a girl I know while the Lieutenant Colonel goes on to Resembool? It's not like they need you to recruit an alchemist. The Hero of Ishval can do that on his own, and I could put you to some light paperwork to keep you busy until they're back."

Havoc narrowed his eyes pensively. "What does she look like?"

Opening the window a bit wider, Hawkeye tried to listen to the traffic below instead of the banal conversation happening inside. She shared Mustang's affection for Hughes to a degree, but she found his train of thoughts frustrating. Every topic somehow circled back to wives, Gracia in specific, children, and urging his friends to settle down. Career ambition or even the betterment of the very system in which he existed did not seem to be a priority. He was an ally to their goals, and she truly believed they'd never betray them. She just doubted how far he'd go to help in this journey.

They moved a millimeter every day. She kept her sight on the end goal, but some days, it didn't seem like it was moving any closer. They discussed plans nearly every day, and she knew the groundwork they laid was necessary. They were on the slow slope now, but one day it would ramp up, and she would miss being bored.

And though she disliked the monotony and the day-to-day tasks, she knew better than the rest how necessary it was. She'd learned from her grandfather not to neglect the details. At the end of a day, she was always the one pushing them to get back to their desks and their paperwork. The daily battle of paper cuts and signatures always felt inglorious until she looked at the Lieutenant Colonel.

In all honesty, she had put him in a high place at first, a pedestal or a horse with shining armor. She had only witnessed him in shorter moments when he was more on display. Becoming his adjutant was almost a culture shock as she adjusted to his clutter, chaos, and questionable character choices. She still believed in him, but she had had to accept the human behind the inhumane goodness.

Thankfully, her exasperation seemed needed. More than a few people had remarked that Mustang's productivity had increased and his department cleaned up since she joined his team. She felt proud that she'd been able to do more for him than serve as a gun.

Loudly, Havoc said, "Well, if you're going to be that way, I might as well head out for the night."

She hadn't caught the latter half of their conversation, but she turned around to see Hughes laughing as Havoc stood up, feigning offense.

"You're not really leaving?" Hughes asked between chuckles.

Havoc put his cigarette out in an ashtray by the door. "I have to check in with an old friend anyway. Give Gracia my love."

"Leave the door open," Hawkeye said, as soon as she felt a drift from the open door.

It only took a few minutes for the smoke to leave the room. Eventually, Hawkeye closed the window then stood and closed the door. She took the chair Havoc had vacated, across from the couch Hughes and Mustang were sitting on. They were discussing Hughes' most recent case. As he shared the details with Mustang, Hawkeye was struck by his capability and intuition. He was capable of drawing correct conclusions from very few details. He would definitely be an asset in the future, so long as they could keep him focused.

"Sounds promising," Mustang said when Hughes caught him up. "I look forward to hearing the conclusion soon."

Hughes nodded then stood, "But for now, I need to get home to the wife." He couldn't help but grin at the word. "She's making a pie tonight. You all should stop by! She's gotten so good with her recipe."

Mustang raised an eyebrow. "I have no idea how you turn it on and off like that. I wouldn't be able to rest with such an interesting case still open."

As he retrieved his coat from a hook by the wall, Hughes gave one of his annoying you'll-understand-when-you're-as-in-love-as-me smiles. "I'm telling you, Colonel. It does wonders for productivity to have someone to come home to. You really should consider getting a wife! The heaviness of the day is just lifted when you know there's someone waiting for you at home. I'm sure the Lieutenant here would love for you to have a wife, right? You'd be out of her hair and more relaxed to boot. Lieutenant, don't you think the Colonel needs someone to come home to at night?"

Mustang tensed. Hawkeye could see it clear as day, though the movements were muffled by his coat. His silence at Hughes' ribbing was also telling. He'd always brushed off Hughes easily, but bringing Hawkeye into it clearly crossed a line. She knew why.

So, she smiled and bowed her head at Hughes. "Goodnight, Lieutenant Colonel."

Oblivious as always, Hughes laughed and rolled his eyes. "You're both as hopeless as the other."

When he left, he shut the door behind him, and the room fell totally silent. Mustang lowered his head so that his hair shielded his eyes, and Hawkeye noticed his breathing becoming more shallow. 

This couldn't happen. They had to be able to be alone together without tension. For the sake of all they were working towards, they could not jeopardize even an inch for any reason. She watched him visibly struggling and hoped he wouldn't say a word.

Make the right choice, she begged internally. She didn't want to be the one to say it. If she had to be the only one who kept them from falling into the inevitable intimacy their closeness could foster, she didn't know how long her strength would hold up against his.

"Riza," he said, his voice deep and strained. He kept his head down, and his knuckles grew white on the arm of the couch.

Her eyes widened at his use of her first name, and she felt her neck flush. So, it seemed she would have to say it out loud for the both of them.

"Colonel, have you heard of Brigadier General Lawrence?"

He took a few breaths, perhaps to steady himself. She'd used his title intentionally so he would understand what she was trying to do before she got to her point. He began to tap his fingers on the couch's arm, as though he was feigning a relaxed response, but she saw the tension in his shoulders nonetheless.

"No, I don't believe so."

She thought she detected a sound of hurt in his voice, but she swallowed and pressed on for both of their sakes. "Lawrence had an affair with a Major under her command. It lasted for about a year before they decided to get married. As you might expect, he was immediately reassigned. The Brigadier General's staff suffered from the Major's absence, as he'd been a crucial part of the team, and she herself became as distracted as… well, as our friend who's just left."

He stopped tapping and covered his mouth with a fist as he often did when in deep thought.

"You could say," she continued, "in a way, she put her personal life above both of their careers. She didn't value his work more than she valued herself. Well, I'd like to think that maybe he wasn't truly that useful to her goals. Or maybe it was just that she didn't have any goals and felt satisfied with her position."

Resting his elbow on the couch and covering the rest of his face with his hand, Mustang sighed. "I understand, Lieutenant."

She also sighed but in relief.

"Though I believe your Brigadier General is fiction," he said dryly.

As some of the nervous tension left, she chuckled. "But the story is true, isn't it?"

He stayed still for a few more moments then lowered his hand. She glimpsed his face briefly as he stood and moved to the door, but his expression was indecipherable.

"Our train leaves at 0900. I'll pick you 30 minutes before. Goodnight."

"Goodnight, sir."

He paused briefly with his hand on the door, and his back to her. Her eyebrows shot up, and her shoulders rose. Then, he opened it and walked out in one swift motion, closing the door behind him.

When he left, she felt even more tension release. She stood and paced for a moment, then stood at the window and spotted his silhouette walking away. When he rounded a corner and left her sight, she went to his spot on the couch. She picked up the pillow he'd been leaning against and sat down to bury her face in it. She didn't realize how exhausted and anxious she was until noticed the pillow shaking from her shaking hands.


	5. Unprompted

Mustang and Hawkeye were the only one in the office. The rest had accepted Havoc's invitation to get lunch with him and his new girlfriend. It felt like every time he finished one file, Hawkeye dropped another in front of him.

"I think that's enough for today."

"You're behind, sir," she said without looking up from her desk.

He leaned back in his chair and watched her work. She could narrow her vision to one task or mission with such singular focus, and somehow, she applied the same focus to their more menial work. He envied her consistent discipline, steady even on slow days. They wouldn't have gotten this far without it.

"Colonel Hughes called me last night," he told her.

She raised an eyebrow but didn't look up from whatever she was reading. "Oh? And how is the family?"

He waved his hand dismissively. "Good, I'm sure. But he said there's a good rumor…" He trailed off for a second to see if she'd look up. She didn't. "… that a Colonel Mustang will be transferred to Central soon."

That did it. Her head snapped up, and her eyes locked on his. Though her lips barely moved, he knew she was smiling. After being so acquainted to her scowls and blank faces, he knew a break in her rigid exterior when he saw it. He'd made her happy.

Sometimes, he felt ashamed of his desire for her. He'd always thought of unreciprocated attachments as "crushes," and no matter how genuine he knew himself to be, he couldn't stop applying the label to himself, ever since she rejected him. Unreciprocated attachment.

No, that wasn't quite accurate. They were as attached as any two people could be, and they both knew it, just not in the nature he thought he needed most. But still, sometimes, he managed to make her smile, didn't he?

"Is that so?" she asked.

He smiled back, more broadly than she, but still a small, one-sided thing. "Think your grandfather will let me keep you through the transfer?"

"General Grumman is a generous man… in certain moods. Just time the request right. He knows how tight this team is."

"We're getting so close, Lieutenant."

"It'll only get more dangerous from here on out, sir."

"We're ready for that."

He nodded. She nodded back and returned to what she was doing. With his spirits lifted, he returned to the work in front of him. He needed the reminder often that they were actually moving. Some days the monotony of paperwork and caseloads felt more hazardous to his wellbeing than danger did. Action and opportunities always spurred him into a flurry of activity.

Setting aside the report summary Hawkeye had asked him to work on, he pulled out the dossiers of the current senior staff and reviewed their personal connections and suggested weaknesses/strengths. General Grumman had given him a foot in the door with Lieutenant General Raven, but he wanted to keep that one as a last resort.

His foster mother had also establish five years' worth of informants and suggested he begin dating around so that she could pass him information through her girls. It took up far too much time out of his work, and the stack of folders on his desk showed it. Still, it would turn out to be useful and gave him something to talk to Havoc about.

After an unreasonable amount of time, the team returned and offered Mustang and Hawkeye their leftovers. Mustang took a portion gladly and used it as an excuse to take a break.

"No, thank you," Hawkeye said, as she stood up from his desk. "I'll grab something from a street stall. I need to take a short break to walk Black Hayate."

"How is he doing?" Fuery asked, always invested in the dog's development.

Hawkeye grinned, and Mustang wanted to roll his eyes. The amount of effort he put in to trying to evoke a smile from her, and she tossed out grins freely when talking about that stray.

"He's doing very well. He hasn't had an accident in the house for a month now, and he's responding to commands perfectly."

"I didn't realize you lived that close, Lieutenant," Havoc remarked. "Guys must be impressed when you bring them home. The places around here are really nice."

Mustang's jaw tensed. Hawkeye wordlessly grabbed her coat and headed to the door.

Falman, unfortunately, also opened his mouth, "Say, Lieutenant. You never bring guys around. What kind of men do you date, eh?" His tone was playful, which somehow made it worse.

Hawkeye froze with her back to them. Falman fell silent, and by the expression creeping into his face, he understood the mistake he'd made. Everyone turned, wide-eyed, to stare at Hawkeye. Eventually, slowly, she turned around to look at Falman. She didn't look quite angry, but her displeasure was evident. 

Falman swallowed then stared down at his desk. Everyone looked away.

Mustang smirked. It was good to know he wasn't the only one who received those glares. They all knew Hawkeye to be a kind, gentle person when the situation called for it, but when it came to his staff, the situation rarely called for it.

She closed the door behind her after she left, and the room relaxed again. Havoc smacked Falman on the back of the head.

A few months ago, when they thought Mustang was out of earshot, Havoc had joked to Hawkeye that the Colonel had a crush on her. Mustang didn't see what happened next, but he heard a loud thud then Havoc's voice from the floor protesting the use of unnecessary violence. Apparently, he was now paying it forward.

"Hey, what's that for?!" Falman whined.

"Show some respect for the Lieutenant! She doesn't have time to date because she's too busy cleaning up after your ass. Now, get back to work. Let's make sure she doesn't catch us slacking off when she gets back, or we'll really have it."

Breda laughed. "I guess we know who's really in charge here, don't we?"

Mustang cleared his throat.


	6. Residential

She stood outside of his apartment and understood what he must have felt before burning her back. She was certain this would be worse.

After a few more knocks, he finally opened the door. Surprise barely registered on his sleepy face, though he was fully-dressed and seemed ready for the day. "Good morning, Lieutenant. Come on in." He walked away, leaving the door open. 

She took a deep breath to steady herself, gathering all her strength for his sake, then stepped inside.

"I think I should go to Central today," Mustang was saying when she found him in the kitchen, pouring a cup of coffee. "I got an odd call from Colonel Hughes last night."

"Would you sit down, sir?"

He turned stiffly to stare at her, probably taking in her worried brow and crisp uniform. "Lieutenant?"

She bowed her head. "Please, sit for a moment, sir."

"If you insist." He left his coffee on the counter and sat in the only chair in the kitchen. When she looked up, she saw fear in his eyes and yet resignation. Did he already know? She took a step closer.

"Are you leaving me, Lieutenant?" His eyes flicked away, but she saw the flash of self-loathing in his eyes. She wavered in her resolve.

"No, sir. I will never leave you," she said, trying to keep her tone neutral. "But I do have bad news."

He met her eyes again. He scanned her face then his eyes widened. "What happened to Hughes?"

Like a ripped-off bandaid, she said, "Murdered, sir. Last night."

He gasped and shrunk into himself. "How?"

"He was shot in a telephone booth. Shooter unknown."

She prided herself on being the first to the office every morning. She was often the last out as well, walking out when Mustang did. When she arrived every morning, she prepared each person's desk with what they needed to prioritize, and then she caught up on anything that had piled up overnight. Rarely were any of them in the office when she was not.

Yet this morning, she wished she'd slept in. Just for once, she should've stayed home a little longer or skipped her alarm. Anything so she would not have been the person to receive this report.

"I cancelled your appointments for the day, sir. I think you need to take sometime to-"

"No." He was holding his face in his hands. "Just give me a moment."

"Sir-"

"Lieutenant. Trust me." His voice sounded small, and it disturbed her. "Five minutes."

He held out a hand like he was groping in the dark. Instinctively, she took it, and he pulled her closer until she was standing right before him. He rested his head on her stomach and held her sides with his hands. She raised her hands and didn't know where to put them.

Maybe it was okay this once. He didn't know how she felt, so she figured it wouldn't necessarily be encouraging his feelings if she touched him. This was a time of a need. His thoughts were on Hughes, not her. He wasn't holding on to her for any purpose but comfort. She told herself that this once she could let her guard down.

She placed her hands in his hair and felt him trembling. His fingers tightened around her hips and puller her even closer, then he clasped his arms behind her back. She drew his head up higher, to the middle of her chest, and rested her head on top of his.

"This once" had been a lie to herself. She remembered another morning when they held each other. He'd stayed with her the whole night after he'd burnt her back, treating the wounds and changing bandages. So much of her was bare to him then. The intensity of the pain severed her connection to reality. She clung to him when the waves were too intense. He held her all night. She vaguely remembered hearing him whispering "sorry," and she suspected she'd heard crying.

Now, she felt his forearms pressing against those scars. She had wanted to know what it felt like to burn, since she was responsible for so many people burning. Part of her resented Mustang for connecting her to it. As much as erasing her father's research was the true reason for doing it, she also wanted that connection to be real. She wanted him to see someone burn.

Now, his arms pressed against her back, and she realized they had changed. All resentment was gone, and the scars were not a punishment to either of them anymore. They were everything unspoken, brave, ugly, and private that bound them to each other. Her body was his, and his hands were hers.

She closed her eyes and held him closer. Then, she counted out five minutes, and they both went to work without another word.

  


Her doorbell rang, and somehow, she knew who it was, though he'd never come to her private residence before. She ordered Black Hayate to sit in the kitchen and wait.

"Yes, sir," she was saying as she opened the door.

Sure enough, Colonel Mustang nodded his hello and walked past her into the kitchen.

"We have a plan, Lieutenant. Maria Ross is innocent , and we're going to use her escape to bait out those truly responsible." He started taking off his coat and gloves, tucking the latter into his pocket and draping the jacket over her chair.

She made them both tea as he hashed out the details, occasionally jotting notes down into a small book in her back pocket. His plan was precise and perfect, and as usual, she felt excited by a mission. He always shared these things so charismatically that she got caught up easily. The whole team did as well, so she knew it wasn't only her. He was just a compelling person.

Even he got completely caught up in his own schemes. She did prefer it when he stayed busy. Somehow, he ended up in less mischief and didn't flirt with her when bored, but when he had a target to actively aim for, his focus was razor sharp and intimidating.

Yet she knew he'd lost weight and wasn't sleeping. She offered him some fruit as he was talking. He accepted it without comment but set it aside and continued on. She mentally shrugged and took a sip of her tea.

"I like to think I'm a good judge of character," she responded once he'd laid it all out, "and I'm not surprised by her innocence."

"I never met her, so I'll have trust your instinct on that. Now, do you still have that portable telephone box from our mission in Brent?"

"No, I had to return it when we transferred, but I could call Rebecca ."

"Yes, best to do that now before you take leave ."

She slid her phone closer to her and input her friend's number. Mustang drummed his fingers on the table, less with impatience and more with unease. Once he got the ball rolling, he always hated a pause. As the phone rang, he stood up and took a lap around the kitchen. Mostly boxes lined the walls. She hadn't had time to unpack, and in this job, the odds of relocating at a moment's notice were high. Still, his sharp eye was bound to gather some personal information from this perusal of all her belongings. She found it very distracting, especially when he bent over and played with Black Hayate.

"Hello, Rebecca Catalina speaking!" Rebecca answered.

"Rebecca, hi, it's Riza."

"Oh, hi!"

Mustang stood in front of her and said, "I'm going to pack your things," right as Rebecca was saying, "Did you call to tell me you're finally setting me up with one of those tall men you work with?" Hawkeye flushed and mouthed, "Okay," to her boss and signaled 'shoo' with her hand while answering Rebecca, "Not after last time. Listen, do you have access to a wireless transmitter?"

"Hmmm. What range do you need?"

"What are my options?"

As they discussed various specifications Rebecca could offer, it dawned on her that Mustang was wandering freely in her apartment. He'd said something about packing, so he must be in her bedroom. He was riffling through her things in his boredom and adrenaline, and she wasn't there to supervise. Not that she had anything to hide in there, but by the nature of that room, it was all personal. She heard his footsteps, the creak of her bed, and then nothing.

Was he sitting on her bed?

"Alright, yes, I think that one works," she finally said to Rebecca. "Can you have it at your place tomorrow, and I just let myself in with your spare key?"

"Sounds good. Get lunch with me soon, okay?"

"Okay, I will. Thank you."

She hung up the phone and stood slowly, listening. Still no more footsteps. She swallowed nervously. She wasn't sure if she could handle the sight of him on her bed. She waited, hoping he'd leave. When a few minutes passed and all she heard was the thudding of her quickening pulse in her ears, she walked toward the bedroom door. She paused for a minute to collect herself then pushed open the door.

He was indeed on her bed but, mercifully, not laying down. Instead, she saw her empty reconnaissance bag open on the floor and Mustang staring at a shirt in his lap. He didn't move at her entrance. She watched him confused until she noticed that her pillow had been moved, and the shirt on his lap wasn't hers. It was the one she kept under her pillow. It was his.

"The dry-cleaner lost one of my shirts, huh?"

She felt her whole body flush and her face grow warm. She was wrong. She did have something to hide. There was no defense or excuse for it, and anything she could try to say would just be a lie or damning. At the moment, she couldn't think fast enough for a good lie he wouldn't easily see through.

When he looked up at her, his eyes darted all over her face and posture, and she felt more exposed to him than every time he'd seen her shirtless. Her warm face and hitched breathing told him too much, and she knew it. She'd seen him deduce more from much less information.

If he came across the room right now, she was done, and honestly, right then, she wanted him to. She was tired. She couldn't fight this alone anymore. He was on her bed, and she wanted to sit next to him, to drop their burdens, to give him rest, to shut out the world for just a night.

"Sir, I…" she tried to start but couldn't handle the expectant look on his face. She stared at the floor and cleared her throat. "Sir, some nights, I have dreams that I can't… I get… It's just that when I think of you…"

"I understand, Lieutenant," he replied softly. The use of her title surprised her. She looked up as he put the shirt back and put the pillow over it. He laid a hand gently on the pillow, and she knew she would bury her face in it tonight. He stared at her again with a weak smile. "It's good to know I'm not alone."

He meant more than the nightmares, and she knew it.

"No, sir, you're not."

He kept his back to her and his hand still on the pillow. "When my parents died , I carried around their wedding rings in my pocket for a long time. Just something to remember those I… love. And some days, it feels like a guarantee. If you love someone, they leave. At least, that's the pattern I've come to live with."

"So, listen to me. I have one order for you to obey above all else: Do not die on me." The fingers on her pillow gripped the cloth causing lines of wrinkled fabric to shoot across the surface. "Don't make me bury you."

"Yes, sir," was all she could say as her throat constricted with the need to cry.

He nodded and put his face in his hands long enough to give a deep sigh, then he stood. "Alright." He clapped his thighs with his hands. "What did Rebecca say?"

She did nothing for a moment but blink a few times. "Uh, she said it's taken care of." After a pause, she added, "Sir."

"Very well." He picked up her bag and placed it on the bed. "I've already talked to Dr. Knox. Breda's gathering the rest."

He plotted their next steps and chose which undercover codes they'd use, as she watched him place nothing but shirts into her bag. She'd have to empty it and refold everything later. 

She closed her eyes for a moment and focused on her breath. Snipers knew how to lower their heart rate by breathing, and she did so now. When she opened her eyes, she was back to feeling like Lieutenant Hawkeye. He stood before her with his head cocked to the side slightly, trying to figure out what she was doing.

"Sir, let's make sure we remember the bigger picture here. Your involvement cannot be known. Stay in your office and try to resist the urge to interfere."

He scowled. "Interfere?"

"You know what I'm talking about, Colonel. You need to be moving, and you like to take care of things yourself. After Maria Ross is safe, I need you to stay in the office. I'll keep in touch."

He rolled his eyes and practically pouted. "I'll be fine, Lieutenant."

"Yes, you will, sir. Because you'll be staying in the office."

"Fine!" he barked as he turned and walked by her out of the room. "Just stay out of trouble!"

"We will, sir." She smiled at his back as he marched out of her apartment.


	7. Killer Pains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This scene takes place after Lust stabbed Mustang and left him for dead. Lust told Hawkeye that Mustang was dead, and Hawkeye lost her will to live. Mustang reappeared, having burned the wound closed, and then he killed Lust.

Hawkeye stood at the Colonel's bedside while nurses applied salve to the burns on his side and back. Havoc was still passed out and on heavy painkillers, and Alphonse was heading back to Winry. Once again, Hawkeye practiced her breathing.

Mustang only hissed a few times as they applied the salve. She hated to see his body so marred, even though she'd never seen it before. He had told them to split up, but she still felt like she had betrayed him by not protecting him. All that mattered was keeping him alive. She remembered for a moment the feeling of believing he was dead, but her stomach clenched, so she wrestled that thought away.

The fact they were all still alive amazed her. And the fact that Roy Mustang was alive was a miracle.

Breda entered the room and stood next to Hawkeye. "We'll have guards stationed outside the room and all entrances for the next 24 hours. You should go home and rest now, Lieutenant."

Mustang groaned as they rolled him onto his back.

"No, I'll stay here for the night," she answered. "Thank you, Lt. Breda."

Breda hmm-ed to himself. He walked to the room's window and picked up the chair from underneath. He brought it over to Hawkeye and set it down next to her. "At least rest your legs, Lieutenant. Goodnight."

She waited until he left before she sat down. The nurses soon filed out with a promise to come back with painkillers for him. Mustang's face was still in a twisted expression of pain, and his eyes were closed. She watched him closely and ate up the sight of him living.

He put an arm over his eyes and drew a deep breath. "We answer questions only to double them. Where is the equivalent exchange in that?"

"Was what we got worth what happened to you and Jean?"

At first, Mustang smirked, but it faded quickly into a frown. "We'll find out when he wakes up."

A nurse returned and administered some medicine. No one spoke or moved until she left. As soon as she closed the door, Mustang said, "Are you going home tonight, Lieutenant?"

"No, sir."

"Good." He lifted his arm off his face. "Will you turn down the damn lights?"

She reached above her head and flipped a switch. It didn't turn down the lights above Havoc, but the lights above the Colonel went off.

"I guess that'll do." He sighed. "I think our task is both more expansive and more dire than we anticipated. I expect…" He lowered his voice and looked at her. "This is going to end up all the way to the top."

She felt a chill down her spine. "I'll be with you all the way, sir."

"I know," he said, still quietly and still staring at her. She felt a different kind of sensation down her spine. "Lieutenant, when I become Fuhrer, I can and will be changing laws." She nodded. "And I will be able to marry whomever I want. No matter their military rank or mine."

She froze. "Sir, how quickly does that medication kick in?"

He smiled. "Tell me, Lieutenant. We both want a democratic society, but should the leader of a country be allowed that much freedom?" She nervously tucked her hair behind his ears. When she took too long to answer, he furrowed his brow and asked again, "Is that a law we should change?"

We.

She had considered the exact same thing multiple times. Multiples times multiples. If they were sacrificing all these nights alone, according to equivalent exchange, could they have this? Could they have each other more fully?

But that's not why they sacrificed. They had both pledged to help people and make this country a better place, and then they had both contributed to the genocide of civilians and families, shooting them without question and burning whole buildings alive. Their two lives spent in repayment would never be enough to undo those broken promises, let alone atone for the suffering they'd caused.

With a debt so large, did they need to deny every good thing for forever? Or did the sheer magnitude of their sins allow them to carve out a grace in which to live? Should they be satisfied with the breath in their lungs and the opportunity to do good for others?

"Sir, I think that depends on the state of the country at the time. Perhaps, we could allow the question to be left before the restored Parliament."

She saw a slight deflation in his expression, but he still smiled at her for a few seconds, searching her eyes, then turned his head back to the middle of the pillow and closed his eyes.

"Alright, Lieutenant."

Somewhat noisily, she released a puff of air she'd been holding in. She didn't know if she felt more relief or more disappointment that he didn't argue.

"I thought I saw Havoc die tonight," he said.

She looked over at the sleeping body across the room. His face had no signs pain. "I'm sure that was terrifying, sir." She remembered again the minutes that felt like hours in which she believed he had died. Everything was just over. It was more than the loss of their dream. It was the loss of him.

"You know," he said, even quieter now as the drugs were kicking in, "we're going to have matching scars now."

She smirked. "And matching tattoos if you count the one on your hand."

"What can I say?" he muttered, eyes shutting involuntarily though he tried to keep them open. "I just want to be more like you."

"Be exactly who you are, sir. I believe that's exactly what this country needs."

"I can't be me without…" He drifted off for the night. 

"We'll talk more in the morning, sir."

When she knew by the rise and fall of his chest and the way his mouth sagged open that he was well and truly unconscious to the world, she allowed the luxury she'd denied herself even in the depths of the Fifth Laboratory when it seemed like he'd come back from the dead, and she took his hand.


	8. On the Line

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Takes place after Hawkeye discovers Selim is a Homonculus and has that phone call with Mustang.

His fingers curled around the phone's handle until his knuckles turned white.

Most days, he maintained his optimism and confidence. He knew he would best Bradley. The Homonculi underestimated humans, and Mustang would use that to their advantage. The Fuhrer may have displaced all of Mustang's best assets, but they weren't totally lost to him. Besides, he had other tricks up sleeves. He was closer to his ambitions than he expected to be at this age.

Still, there were nights like tonight when he felt utterly helpless, and it crushed him. He knew her voice too well. Something had happened, and he had to trust her to handle it herself. She hadn't given him the signal to come right away, or he would already have been there.

He briefly considered stopping by anyway. He did have a car full of flowers, after all, and if others were really listening in on them at this time of night, they just heard his excuse pretending to be drunk. But there was a chance that whatever was wrong was ongoing, and it was vital that he stayed away. He had to trust her.

He slammed the phone back down and burst out of the booth.

A small part of him had also really hoped she would be able to play along, and he would have a chance to both see and her give her a comically large amount of flowers. Hope deferred. Well, his new hope was that she'd take comfort in that shirt tonight.

He got back in his car and slammed the door. He twisted the leather on the steering wheel and glared at the open street. They would pay for this. He swore it. Tendrils of hatred began to flick at his heart and hardened his motivation. They would pay. He would kill Bradley himself.

For Ishval. For Hughes. For his Lieutenant.

They both knew it was risky to be near each other too often, but since something had clearly happened, he needed the intel.

A week after that phone call, Mustang took lunch in the mess hall and intentionally sought Hawkeye out.

"Is this seat taken?"

When she looked up, he observed a moment of relief, followed by panic, and finally a feigned nonchalance.

"No."

He sat down and tossed some papers next to him for notetaking.

"So, how is work treating you?" she asked, tone perfectly normal and paced.

"See for yourself," he replied and began to write with one hand while eating with another. "I have to work through every meal or I can't keep up." He missed her help around the office. By that, of course, he missed the way she'd take over many of his tasks and delegate them to the others.

She didn't say anything after that, so he looked at her and tried not to show too much concern. There was a slash mark on her cheek that was new. He almost broke his pen in half at the sight. "And how about you?" he asked.

"I've been staying busy, too, especially with everything I've had to learn." She closed her eyes and bowed her head slightly. So, then, she did have new intel for him. "Fuhrer Bradly works very efficiently though, so that helps," she continued with her eyes closed. "He isn't a slacker, that's for sure."

The jab was unexpected, and he felt like sulking. Didn't she see him working? "Sounds like this is going to be a dull conversation."

She took a sip of her drink, and he continued to write.

"Well, apparently," she began, then tapped her cup twice on the table. "Scar is up in the North. The Elric brothers are up there as well."

He closed his eyes and quickly deciphered which code she was using. "I see." He tapped his pen twice to indicate that he was following.

Scar. Elric.

"My former classmates Lucy and Ian are stationed up there, and they like to keep me informed."

Lucy. Ian.

They so rarely had such casual conversations together. It felt obvious to him that anyone looking would realize they were communicating in code. Neither of them were bad at it, per se, but it was never how they talked to each other. Hawkeye, even more than him, was not one for chit-chat.

"Hmm. Aren't the North and East conducting join exercises this spring?"

"Yes, I think you're right about that. I hope Major Miles and Buckaneer don't show us up like they have in the past."

Miles. Buckaneer.

"I'm not sure that'll be likely since their Brigadier General is currently in Central."

She took a bite of her sandwich and chewed before swallowing. "Is that so? Yes, I think Officer York mentioned something like that to me. Or maybe it was Officer Ida. Either way, I did see a blonde woman walking by when I was taking a walk with Lieutenant Sugar."

York. Ida. Sugar.

"I didn't think you went for walks much."

"I don't typically. I think something about Havoc's accident made me appreciate my legs more."

Havoc. He sighed. Yes, Havoc's accident had left a mark on all of them. "Have you seen him recently?"

"I visit now and then. Last time I stopped by, his friends Oscar and Mike were playing cards with him."

Havoc. Oscar. Mike.

"I can never keep track of all of Havoc's friends," he replied honestly, though he knew those two were made up.

"Mmm. I find it difficult as well. The man is very outgoing. I just remembered those two because my friend Uni dated one and Nora dated the other."

Uni. Nora.

"I don't know how people with military careers find so much time to date."

She smiled up at him for a moment before staring down at her food and taking a spoonful of soup. "I dated someone during the academy. His name was Charlie. Uni introduced us."

He scowled at her. Was this one made up too? He hated that he couldn't ask. "Uni sounds like a good friend."

"She is. Lucy and Uni were my good friends in the Academy.

Oh, right. Charlie. Uni. Lucy. Uni again.

"Lucy is the friend stationed up North, you said?"

"Yes." She wiped crumbs from her hands over the tray. She must be almost done. "In the academy, she had a sparring partner named Sterling. They were quite the team. Rarely apart and always stronger together. I worry about him now that he doesn't have her."

Sterling.

She was still gathering trash on to her tray and tapped one piece twice. He waited for her to look at him so he could nod, so he could look at her in a way that reassured she didn’t have to worry about him. Yes, he was falling apart without her help, but he wasn't useless.

"Well, sir, I'd better leave. You're clearly using me as a distraction from your work."

His brow drooped in exasperation. "Back to boring, I see."

She finally looked at him, her eyes smiling though her mouth was still. "I'll catch you later, sir. Stay out of trouble."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I watched this scene so many times, but we're never given the full letters for SELIM BRADLEY. They just do SELIM BY IS HOMONCULUS. Oh, well!


	9. Hopes in Ashes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawkeye's thoughts as Mustang battles Envy and how exactly she knew it was Envy pretending to be Mustang.

She knew he was off from the moment she found him at Hughes' grave side when he should have been doing final preparations for the assault. The tone of his voice, the rigidness of his posture, all of it struck her as more than a man heading into a battle with the country's deadliest nightmares. He looked almost possessed, as though the energy that had been flowing through him since they'd come home from Hughes' funeral had culminated into today's plans.

Now, they stood underneath the third laboratory again, and he'd found his quarry, or rather, his "culprit" as Envy had called himself. Though she'd seen Mustang in battle many times, she had never heard him insult an enemy with so much hatred. "Idiot." "Fool." "Worthless scum." She heard the seething hatred in his threats, the disgust clear even from her position behind him.

To be fair, she felt similar things for this inhuman murderous monster, but Mustang crossed the line from justice to vengeance by boiling the Homunculus' tongue. It was too personal and specific and useless. Mustang had always been ruthless and, at times, heartless, but this was a step beyond that. He didn't want to kill Envy. He wanted to make his long-sought prey suffer, and neither caution nor decency were restraining him. He ordered them all to stand down. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted the concern in Edward's face and the recognition in Scar's.

Edward was the first to speak up, "Lieutenant, do you really think the two of you-"

"Edward. Just go," she ordered. He still needed to play his role, and she feared where Mustang was headed. The fewer witnesses and distractions, the better. "We can handle this one."

Thankfully, everyone listened and walked past Envy into the tunnel.

"So, you've been rather dogged in your pursuit of Hughes' killer," Envy growled once his tongue had healed. "You're a true friend to the very end!" As he spoke, his body morphed, but it was different then when he'd taken on the form of Hughes' wife to show them how he'd tricked Hughes. He grew in size this time, muscles and skin bulging and growing.

Hawkeye held up her gun as Envy kept growing into a large, green beast. Her guns wouldn't do enough to this thing. Human faces and torsos sprouted from the beast's skin, and she felt a shudder.

Mustang threw out a hand. "Keep your distance, Lieutenant."

"Out of respect for your tireless quest for vengeance," Envy said with a different, monstrous voice than before, "I'll give you the fight you're looking for. I'm not exactly capable of treading lightly in this body, so you better give it all you-"

Again, the Colonel interrupted with a snap. This time, he targeted Envy's eyes, confirming Hawkeye's suspicion that he wanted to do it slowly… that he wanted to enjoy it. The monster howled and fell to the ground, hands pressing into its eyes.

"What's it like having the fluid inside of your eyes boil? I'd imagine it might sting a little," Mustang taunted.

As Mustang continued to burn and taunt, Hawkeye remembered a moment in Ishval when Kimblee had answered her questions on why they were there, why alchemy was being used to kill.

_Tell me, miss. You're not very happy to be here, are you? Well, you don't appear to be. But can you honestly tell me in that split second you take down an enemy you don't allow yourself to feel the slightest tinge of satisfaction and pride in your skills? Well, Miss Marksman?_

His words had haunted her for years. She really had felt something pleasant, even underneath all of the self-hatred, every time she successfully killed someone, and knowing that crushed her. She had thought she cared about people, that she'd joined the military to help them, and yet she was a monster who found murder satisfying.

Her grandfather, however, General Grumman, had detected the self-hatred in her voice one evening over dinner. He tried to engage her on the topic, but she dodged it, too full of shame to admit this secret to a man she so admired and loved. The next day, she found a card on her desk with a number for a military counselor. Though the counselor himself ended up being unhelpful, he did point her to a lot of books that helped to build a framework for understanding what she had been through.

The nightmares didn't end, but it did help her see that the feeling Kimblee described was not a joy in murder but simply a brain's response to accomplishing tasks well. The difference between her and Kimblee and Envy was simply that. A part of her had died every time she'd had to kill, and a separate part of her had been proud when others referred to her as "The Hawk's Eye." It was those who relished their destructive power that became monsters.

And right now, she saw no difference between Envy's glee over killing Hughes' and Mustang's relentless, slow burning. 

When Mustang chased the monster into the tunnels, she waited as long as she could like he commanded. He had never sent her away in combat like this before. At the start of their partnership, he'd stated her job as watching his back. He'd called her his greatest asset so many times, but now she stood useless and alone in the laboratory so he could indulge his bloodlust without having to share in the kill.

"Colonel, I'm sorry, but I can't wait," she said aloud before following them. She was more than his bodyguard. She had to protect him from himself.

She heard no sounds of combat or fire as she tread carefully into the bowels of the lab. With each step, she avoided making sound while also counting them so they could find their way back. Though she looked around every corner in fear of more mannequin soldiers, her hands were steady.

Further in, the scientific pipes and lines gave way to brick-walled tunnels. Around one corner she could hear footsteps approaching slowly. She knelt and kept her gun below eyesight. Should it be an enemy with a gun, they would be aiming too high to hit her. The gait of the walk was foreign and too slow to be the Colonel.

Right when the steps were next to her, she sprung out, only to find the Colonel's fingers in her face, ready to snap. They stared at each other briefly before withdrawing their aggressive stance.

"I told you to stay behind, Lieutenant," he said. 

But the eyes were wrong. Mustang had always wrestled with self-hatred, and this person clearly possessed that emotion. But lately, he had let all of his inner loathing become fixated on Hughes' killer. He was hell-bent on total destruction and would have been running through these halls instead of walking this quietly.

"I'm sorry. But I couldn't just sit there, sir," she replied anyway. She didn't have the upper hand yet, so there was no reason to reveal her suspicion.

Mustang closed his eyes and put his hands in his pocket, a familiar position. Was she wrong?

She stood. "Where's Envy?"

"He outran me," he replied. "This place is like a labyrinth." The voice was the same, but when Envy had become Hughes' wife, he'd kept his own voice. She started questioning her initial judgement. "Well, you might as well help me kill him now that you're here. Stay right by my side, Lieutenant."

The hair on the back of her head stood up. No, right now, the last thing he'd suggest is someone helping him kill Envy. This wasn't her Colonel.


	10. The Fight Isn't Over

Nothing was real once the hospital room was silent. The visitors filed out, the nurses finished helping them for the time being, and all Mustang could hear was the whir of machinery all around him, though he couldn't tell from where.

He wanted to ask Hawkeye a million more questions, just to hear her voice. What did Alphonse's body look like? Was he taller than Edward? What color were the walls in this room? What did the nurses look like? Was she sure they were safe?

The fighting was over, and now the rush was replaced by more horror than relief. He hadn't seen the end. The last thing his eyes had known was the sight of Hawkeye bloodied, Bradley pinning him by the hands with swords, and Pride swallowing the doctor.

No, no, that's not right. The last thing he saw was the Truth. Remembering that other place made his head spin. He had been flooded with truth and new concepts of the universe, and yet nothing felt true right now. Nothing was certain. He still felt deconstructed. He could leave this room any minute and be transported elsewhere. The whole world was shadows, and in the silence, they were all shifting and closing in.

"Lieutenant, would you do me a favor?" he finally asked, keeping the fear out of his voice with great difficulty.

She jerked upright in the bed, as though he'd startled her out of sleep, and he felt guilty instantly. He'd spent the day passed out, recovering from wounds and their all-nighter, but he didn't know if she'd gotten as much rest as he. "Yes, of course. What is it, sir?"

He hated being this weak and helpless, but he couldn't do this alone. Still, it took him another moment to work up the nerve. "Would you lay over here?"

She was quiet for a moment. If he could see her face, he'd be able to know if she felt insulted or worried or confused. They had always read each other so well. Instead, he now had to wait for her to speak to know what was on her mind.

She said nothing, but he heard movement on her bed, the pad of her bare feet on the hospital floor, and his own mattress squeak from her weight. She sat upright at first then slowly laid down with her back to him and her neck over his stretched out arm.

He slid a hand up her hospital shirt and placed it on one of the scars on her back. He sighed in relief.

"Is something wrong, sir?" she asked. He detected the confusion this time. Of course, his actions were out of the norm for them, but this was also not how a man seduced a woman.

They didn't touch as rule. Sometimes, they brushed fingers when handing each other things, but they maintained distance as much as they could. That changed when he saw her bleeding out, when he held her and pressed his cheek to her hair. He had clung to her as long as he could after that, and then she clung to him once she saw his blindness. They'd crossed the line.

"Nothing now. I just…" He sighed. "Envy would never have known about your scars, especially not their specific placement. So. You're definitely you."

She breathed in as she realized what he meant. "Oh." She was silent for a moment, and with his hand on her scars, he felt calmer. Perhaps, he could even sleep. "I know what you mean, sir," she said quietly. "I had to shoot you when Envy took your form. And then, I almost had to again when…"

She didn't finish that thought, but she didn't have to.

To his surprise, she rolled over to face him and wrapped her arms around him in a hug. He realized he hadn't been hugged since Hughes died, and he pushed into it, keeping his hands on her back for reassurance. All was still dark, but this finally felt like truth.

He buried his face in her neck as she did in his. He became overwhelmed by the sensation of her. The familiar scent on her skin, the feel of her soft, smooth skin, and the sound of her breathing tantalized him. He hadn't meant for those feelings to be stirred, but as she pressed her chest against him in this embrace, his mind swam. All this touching opened a door of need he'd kept locked for a long time, and now, it came pouring out. All day he had felt deprived of sensation, and for a long time, he'd been deprived of her.

He pressed a kiss against her neck, just below her bandages, and she didn't pull away. So, he did it again and let one of his hands move to her side, thumbs stroking her ribs. She let out a soft moan and arched ever so slightly in pleasure. He didn't want to aim for her mouth and miss, so he trailed his lips up her throat, over her jaw, across her cheek, and hovered over her mouth. She came the rest of the way.

His mind overloaded with desire and a sense of urgency. The hand under her neck moved to the back of her head to keep her close, to push further into her mouth. His fingers on her side dug into her skin, grabbing as much of her as he could. He wanted to hold, consume, partake, enjoy, use every verb he could.

"Are you sure?" she asked when he slid down to put his mouth on her collarbone and his hand on the back of her thigh.

"Yes," he easily replied and ran a tongue across the top of her chest and was rewarded with a small gasp. His moved his hand back under her shirt and began to stroke her stomach. She rolled onto her back and wound her fingers in his hair. He groaned in pleasure. With ease, he slipped over her, continuing kisses over to her shoulder and pushing her clothes aside to taste more bare skin. Her sighs and moans increased the frenzied need to have her in every way possible.

His Lieutenant, his Hawkeye, his Riza. For years, she had been his guiding light and moral compass. She was his greatest source of strength and comfort. The whole world was dark to him, and he couldn't see the clock or his own face, but his fingers could and would see every inch of her.

Yet just as quickly as that thought was comforting, it became crushing. In more silent, desperate, lonely moments, he had thought about this. He had pictured her in his arms, and he'd longed to see more of her body than her back. He finally had her in the same bed now, but he couldn't see her face transformed by pleasure. He didn't know if there were beauty marks on her stomach, what her curves looked like pressed into a mattress, or how her hair fell on the pillow. His hands were also bandaged, so he could only feel with his fingers. He felt cheated.

He must have stayed still too long, because he heard worry in her voice when she asked, "Are you alright, Colonel?"

Colonel. He wanted to pretend the titles were gone. Could a blind man serve at this rank anyway? Well, if he had no more hopes of being Fuhrer, he would take something else he wanted. She wanted him too. They had put their beliefs and dreams above this desire for years now, and if those dreams were gone, he would find solace in a different consummation.

He couldn't give her up. Last night, he had. He watched her bleeding to death, and he'd made the most difficult choice of his life. He let her die. He'd already made that choice once, and he shouldn't have to again. His fingers flirted with the waist of her pants.

The small voice in his head that sounded exactly like the woman underneath him whispered, If you can let her die by her request, then you can honor her request to avoid this very action.

His hands left her body and pressed into the mattress on either side, pushing himself an inch above her. His moral compass. 

She put a hand on his face. "Don't give up," she whispered, somehow reading his thoughts.

His arms shook. "I'm done, Lieutenant. You know I can't be Fuhrer like this."

"If Al can get his body back, we can get your eyes back."

He let himself back down, laying on top of her with his face next to hers. "I'm afraid," he confessed in a whisper so soft only her ear next to his mouth could have heard it.

"I know," she whispered back. "But as my commanding officer once told me… 'Don't be an idiot. Stay strong. And don't you ever give up. Keep your cool no matter what. '"

He smiled despite himself. "I'm sure I worded it more diplomatically than that," he said in a normal tone. He moved off, and she rolled up so that they were both laying on their sides and facing each other.

"Diplomatic to a subordinate? No, that doesn't sound like you."

He sighed. "You always set me straight. I'm sorry, Lieutenant."

She put a hand on his chest. "Don't be, sir. We just survived hell, and our bodies probably have excess adrenaline that we don't know how to cope with. I also apologize for not stopping us." Then she pulled her hand away.

He appreciated that she said 'us.' They laid in silence for a while as he considered all she had said. A few minutes passed, but he could tell she wasn't sleeping by the sound of her breathing.

"Alright," he said, all fear and lust out of his voice now. "We have two routes to explore. I'll need you to explore the route of recovering my eyesight. But more importantly, I need to explore the route of restoring Ishval without being the Fuhrer. Since your grandfather is Fuhrer, I'll need to get started on that either way. I can have Breda bring over all my - why are you smiling?"

"How did you know I was smiling, sir?"

"Oh. I actually don't know. It was almost like I could hear it." He also realized his hand had moved to her back again and was tracing her scars in a cross pattern. "Are you?"

"Yes."

"So, why?"

"Without your eyes, you need to touch my back to make sure I'm me. With my eyes, I need to hear you have vision and drive for others to know you're definitely you."

To avoid repeating his mistake, he refrained from pulling her to him for another embrace. So, he just smiled. "Will you stay right there for the rest of the night?"

"No, sir. But I have an idea."

To his chagrin, she left the bed. He missed the feel of her immediately. She walked over to the door, and he heard her open it and say, "I'm going to lock this door for the night. Tell the nurses not to check on us until the morning so that our sleep is not disturbed."

She locked the door, and then he heard her moving furniture around. He couldn't keep track of what was moving where. Then her mattress creaked, but it sounded much nearer than before.

"You can hold my hand now, Colonel." He groped towards her for a few seconds before she found his hand and squeezed it. "Considering your current state, I don't think this is out of bounds. I'll get up before the sun rises and move my bed back."

He laid on his back, kept her hand in his, and sighed. "Thank you, Lieutenant."

"Always, sir."


	11. Family Affairs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three years after the Promised Day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I assumed Fuery was promoted to Sergeant Major and Hawkeye to Captain for this.

"Sergeant Major ? It's Riza." She tapped the side of the phone booth with the keys to Mustang's car.

"Ah, Captain Hawkeye!" Fuery said on the other end of the phone. "Are we still seeing you after lunch?"

"Actually, that's why I called. The Fuhrer has asked me to have lunch, so I was wondering if you could walk the dogs one more time." She hated disrupted plans, but it was hard to say no to the ruler of the country. "I'll be home later than I thought.”

"Sure, no problem! Did you say hi to the Elrics for us?"

She smiled at the memory and fondled the earrings Winry had given her. They'd taken a lot of the broken weapons and automail from Promised Day to Rush Valley. A crafty new artist was making jewelry out of them. Winry had specifically chosen hoop earrings made from Buckaneer's automail arm for Hawkeye, since she had known him.

"Yes. They promise to come visit soon."

Fuery laughed. "They always say that."

"I'll see you soon, Fuery."

Fuhrer King Grumman was waiting patiently for her in the garden of the Fuhrer's residence. He grinned when she entered and stood up.

"Good afternoon, darling! I'm touched you thought to visit while you're here."

She smirked. It didn't feel right not to salute, but he'd made her promise to maintain familial habits if they were in his residence. Presumably, that's why he'd asked to meet here.

He gestured to a set table inside an alcove. As they walked there together, he put an arm around her shoulders. "Did you see the reconstruction of Command Center is almost finished?"

"Yes, it looks almost as good as new. Maybe you can transfer us back here soon."

He laughed. "You're welcome back to visit me any time you want." They sat at the table, and he poured them both tea. She had a flashback to pouring tea for the last Fuhrer while she was his hostage.

"Thank you for doing that," she said when he handed her a cup.

"Oh, no problem. So, so, I have some news!" He was practically dancing in his seat in excitement. She raised an eyebrow to indicate interest. He waited until she brought the cup to her mouth, then he said, "I'm engaged!"

She spit out the sip she'd just taken, and he laughed like a kid. "I'm surprised, Grandfather. I didn't take you for the marrying type." She'd heard the stories from Rebecca about his behavior with non-related females. "Let me guess. She's a little younger than you?"

He shrugged, eyes still full of mirth. "Just a bit. Did you ever meet Warrant Officer June Cross?"

Thankfully, she didn't have tea in her mouth for this surprise. "You're marrying someone in the military? Is she on active duty?"

"That's what I wanted to talk to you about." He raised a hand and gestured for some nearby servants to bring some food. It took them a minute to arrange a light lunch of salad and sandwiches before them, and then Grumman sent them away. "A Fuhrer should be married."

She didn't like where this was going. "I'm not so sure-"

"No, it's true, darling. Bradley was a powerful homunculus, and even he knew to choose a wife. The position is not just military. A Fuhrer rules over the whole country including civilians. On the Promised Day, when the city believed the Fuhrer was dead, one of the biggest concerns was for Selim's well-being. They were invested in the Fuhrer's family."

Her stomach turned, and she merely twirled her fork around her salad.

She'd fallen into a perfect rhythm with General Mustang, and she didn't want it disturbed. After the Promised Day, three years ago, they had successfully resumed their previous partnership, and he continued to treat her as both a subordinate and a vital asset. They had accomplished much, though it hadn't been easy. Many in the east still believed the false propaganda about the Ishvalans and resisted Mustang's changes and proposals.

Incorporating Ishval back into the country took tact, concentration, and compassion. General Mustang was up to the task, and she noticed a lot of significant changes in the last three years. A younger version of him would call it "softening," but she found nothing weak or soft about it. He was as ruthless as ever when he needed to be, but he so rarely needed to be. Their mission required many interpersonal relationships, and he'd become close friends with an Ishvalan named Mika Ayaisin who had a similar vision.

They didn't touch. They didn't use first names. They protected each other in this way and were able to continue their work. She was able to embrace her feelings for him then direct them into smaller actions. Every assignment, report, and board meeting were how she expressed herself. Spending her life serving and protecting him was how she had chosen to love and support him.

But a wife? She had purposefully avoided the thought. Since she couldn't have him in that way, she preferred he have no one. Besides, how would a wife feel about all the time he spent with her? Then again, they kept their relationship so clean that perhaps there was no cause for jealousy.

Though she'd never spent time imagining her own wedding, her mind produced an image of his with a beautiful woman walking down the aisle and Hawkeye at his side in a suit as the best man.

She stabbed a tomato with her fork and watched the seeds squish out. "So, why are you telling me this?"

"He doesn't listen to me on this topic, I'm afraid. I've tried many times." Grumman took a small bit of a sandwich and crumbs fell into his beard. Hawkeye resisted the urge to clean it. "Besides," he continued as he chewed, "isn't it inappropriate for a commanding officer to propose to his subordinate? You have to be the one to do it."

Her jaw dropped. Grumman noticed and raised his eyebrows in surprise as well.

"Darling, did you think I meant he marry someone other than you?" He swallowed his bite and laughed. "How preposterous."

She was still speechless and overwhelmed. Her body felt funny, so she took another sip of tea to calm down. She noticed the cup was shaking slightly as she lowered it back down to the table. "Grandfather, I don't… but that would mean…"

"I hope you don't think the nature of your relationship was a secret. I know Bradley had the eyes of the god, so it was easy for him to guess, but I've been watching you for - what? A decade? Something like that? I think it would be highly incorrect for him to marry someone else, and it would certainly be unfair to the other lady. Additionally…" He smiled one-sidedly. "I want my granddaughter to be the First Lady of Amestris ."

"Whew," she said and pressed her hands to her cheeks. They were definitely flushed. "I'm not sure if I can convince him of this. I'm afraid it'll be… too outside of regulations for me to try."

"If anyone can convince him, it's certainly you. You both know I prefer him to General Armstrong, and I swear just about everyone knows she'll never get married. By her own choice, by her own choice. I mean no disrespect for the woman. I think she's broken two officers’ arms for even suggesting it. Anyway, I'm not going to live forever, and I'd like to retire before then. Especially now that I'm about to be a happily married man."

Once again, he got the happy, childish look on his face.

"Well, I look forward to your wedding, Grandfather," she said with a genuine smile.

"Me too, darling. Bring Roy as your date."

Pushing the food away altogether, she leaned back in her chair. "Do you really think I'm wife material? I'm not good at sitting around doing nothing."

"Oh, that's another thing!" Grumman adjusted his glasses then folded his hands together and set them on the table. "I actually have a proposal for you. There is some work you could do as First Lady, and I think you'd be the best one to do it. Let me ask you: What is the alchemist's slogan?"

"Hmm. Be thou for the people?"

"Yes, I should have known Berthold's daughter would remember that. We try to emphasize that value in our state alchemists, but we know nothing about their training. The test to become a state alchemist is based purely on ability, but they could have any number of values. Look at the Crimson Alchemist, as an example. His skills were impeccable, but… well, you know how his story ended. We know very little about other countries' alchemy as well. I think we need a central repository for alchemical knowledge, training, and ethics. To that effect, I am setting aside some of the government's budget for a state school."

She breathed in sharply. "A state school for alchemy? I'm not sure many would like the government ruling that."

"Well, that's where you come in. As First Lady, you can establish the school and its principles without any of it being a direct order from the government, and since you're not an alchemist, you wouldn't be doing any of the teaching yourself. What you say would be backed by your position, but it wouldn't be law. Essentially, it would belong to the people, but you would found the school, hire the teachers, set up a board, and direct where the government funds go."

"I see…" Surprisingly, this proposal was easier to imagine than the idea that she be First Lady, and it took care of a need in their country that both she and Mustang had frequently noted.

"I already have a list of teachers that I think would be best, especially either of the Elric brothers. Just think about it. There are many other projects for a First Lady, but I think this one would suit your passions best. From your position, you have seen every side of alchemy."

She twisted slightly in her seat and felt the slight pull of scar tissue on her back. "That's true."

"Now." He dropped his business formal behavior and grinned mischievously again. "When you talk to Roy, tell him I have two conditions before he marries you."


	12. Exchanging

Standing before the door of Mustang's house, Hawkeye tapped her shoes together nervously a few times and tugged at the collar of her uniform. After his promotion to General, Mustang could've afforded a much larger place, but he spent a great deal of his salary that year investing in a new bar for Madam Christmas. Instead, he took a decent but old house in a crowded street near headquarters. She’d always enjoyed the sight of it, but she had yet to enter the premises.

Hawkeye took a deep breath then banged the door's knocker. Ten seconds later, General Mustang opened the door.

"Did you even look in the peephole, sir?" she asked with mild irritation at his lack of survival instinct.

"It wasn't necessary, Captain. I saw it was my car in the driveway when I looked out the window upstairs."

She tossed him his keys, and he caught them deftly then tucked them into his pants. As per usual, he wore a three-piece suit but did nothing with his hair. She wondered who had given him a lesson on how to dress without including haircare.

After scanning her body from head to toe, he raised an eyebrow at her. "Why did you change out of civilian clothes just to return my car?"

She flushed. "How did you know that?"

"You're wearing hoop earrings with a uniform. It’s not regulation. You clearly changed."

She raised a hand to her ear. Dammit. Sure enough, Winry's gifts were still dangling there. It was a rookie mistake that she hadn't made since the academy.

"Are you busy, General, or do you have a few minutes to talk?" In combat, she felt razor sharp and skilled, but merely asking that question made her skin crawl with awkwardness at the coming conversation.

He looked startled for a moment. She was surprised by a knowing expression on his face mixed with disappointment. Did he already know? He leaned an arm against the doorframe and bowed his head. "So, you have some bad news for me, huh?"

"Uh! Why would you assume it's bad news?"

"You like to wear your uniform when you're uncomfortable, and you had lunch with the Fuhrer." He sighed. "Alright, come in." He turned around and walked down his hallway, leaving her standing in the doorway.

"Nice manners," she whispered. Her nervousness often came out as annoyance, and she was definitely nervous now. She took her earrings out with one hand as she stepped inside and locked the door behind her.

He was standing in his lounge and opening a drinking cabinet. "Let me get some whiskey first, if you don't mind." His back was to her, but she could hear his mood souring.

She perched on the arm of a chair. "He still wants you to succeed him."

"That's good to hear, but it's not news to either of us."

"Sir, the Fuhrer wants you to get married."

His paused with his hand around the neck of a bottle, and his knuckles whitened. She winced as his shoulders rose and head hung.

Neither of them were any good at talking about their feelings or being expressive. She'd taken a longer route back to East City just to consider how to break through the silent barrier they'd built around themselves. Yes, she'd changed into her uniform to feel more comfortable, but she also thought he'd be able to keep his cool if they weren't too casual. She highly anticipated that he would dismiss her for the night and have an answer the next day.

"I'm not sure that's a good idea, Captain."

If anyone can convince him, it's certainly you.

She took a deep breath through her nose then let it out slowly through her mouth. "Alright." She walked over next to him and took the bottle from his hand. As she poured him a glass, she watched him glowering out of the corner of her eye. "It's worth talking about, sir."

"I've heard all of his arguments before." He waved a hand dismissively.

"It's equivalent exchange," she said, offering him the drink.

He raised an eyebrow and took it, though he immediately set it back down. He turned towards her. "Well, that's a new one."

"It's mine, sir."

"How does it work?"

"You're exchanging a bodyguard for a wife."

Both of their faces flushed. His Adam's apple bobbed.

"I see," he said, stiffly. "That's your argument?"

She felt her hands get sweaty and wiped them on her pants. "Yes, sir. As neither of us are married, I don't think we can safely estimate the value of a… marital partnership. However, I think if you sacrifice my position as bodyguard and you… exchange it for… this other one…" She closed her eyes, frustrated by her ineloquence. "Oh, boy."

Before she could continue, he flung himself at her. She didn't realize how close they were standing, but all it took for an embrace was to grab her arm and yank her towards him. He wrapped his arms around her tightly and rested his forehead on her head. Her eyes shot open in surprise.

"Sir?"

"Riza, I - I've been thinking about this all day."

"What?" She pulled back so she could see his face. He kept his hands on her arms. "What do you mean?"

"Well, I heard about the Fuhrer's engagement. I asked a few people how he could marry someone in the military, and they told me about the law he had the senior staff pass." He was talking faster than normal, and she realized he was excited.

"What law?!"

"The Fuhrer and his blood relatives are now exceptions to the anti-fraternization laws. Since you told Fuery you were having lunch with him and considering how often he's asked me to make you the First Lady, I only assumed he was making a pitch. But then I saw your uniform and the earrings, and I actually thought you were coming here to tell me I had to marry someone else, and I-"

He stopped talking and held her again, pressing her face against his chest and his lips to the top of her head. Apparently, she had misjudged his reaction, or maybe she had projected her own fears. It had been years since he'd touched her or implied any feelings. It was easy to forget.

But it was also easy to remember. When he cupped the back of her head with a hand, she closed her eyes and relaxed.

"I thought you wouldn't like the idea. You keep telling everyone you’re not interested in getting married."

He tilted her chin back so she could see his face, and she was struck speechless by the depths of what she saw. "I wasn't interested in marriage, because you didn't want to get married."

She pressed a hand to his cheek, growing quickly accustomed to the change in status quo. Yet she detected a little insecurity in his eyes.

"Riza, I'll accept it either way, but just so I know - are you suggesting this because you want to, or because you think…"

He stopped talking when she moved her face closer to his. His eyes flicked down to her lips, and he breathed in softly. When she kissed him, he wrapped his arms around her again and kissed her back just as much. Aside from holding him after Hughes’ death and touching his hand in the hospital years ago, she had poured so much strength and will into restraint. Yet it only took two seconds to reverse the habit.

She pushed his mouth open with her tongue and enjoyed his sound of surprise and pleasure. His grip on her tightened. As relief flooded her system, she grew ecstatic and peppered his face with kisses. He laughed softly. When she kissed his upper lip, she remembered something her grandfather had said and pulled away.

"Oh, I almost forgot!"

"What?" He leaned back towards and kissed her cheek, clearly not wanting to stop what was starting.

"The Fuhrer does have two stipulations about this."

He continued to kiss her cheeks and forehead. "And what does our Fuhrer stipulate?"

For a second, she paused to enjoy the sensation. "The first thing is that you have to ask for his permission."

His head snapped back. One eyebrow was raised in confusion. "He's ordering us to get married, but he also wants me to ask his permission?"

"Unfortunately, yes."

He rolled his eyes. "Alright, I suppose. And what's the other stipulation?"

"He wants you to shave the mustache."

His eyes widened in surprise and offense. "Why?!"

She tried not to smile, but the struggle on her face was obvious. "He says it doesn't make you look older; it just makes you look slimy."

As the Fuhrer probably wanted, Mustang scowled. "He's just saying that because he doesn't want a rival for best mustache."

"Either way," she said and traced the hair on his upper lip. "This has to go." Then she moved her finger to his lips, and he kissed her fingertips. "But the rest is mine."

"Yes, sir," he said with a smile.


End file.
